


Someone To Watch Over You

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angelo Ships It, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Everybody Ships It, M/M, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Mutual Pining, Mycroft Being A Stalker, Mycroft Being a Good Brother, No Eurus Holmes, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Poor Mycroft, Post-Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Pre-Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Protective Big Brother Mycroft, Sibling Incest, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-20
Packaged: 2020-01-16 11:16:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18520363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: New people have come into Sherlock's life. Mycroft has to make sure they are no threat for Baby Brother whom he secretly loves.





	1. The Visitor

**Author's Note:**

> I accidentally stumbled over the "Mycroft Being A Stalker" tag some time ago and found it fascinating. Is he really? I think he just wants to make sure nobody harms Baby Brother. He kidnaps John - surely he will have had a talk with the others too, years before!

### Greg Lestrade – New Scotland Yard

“Um… Who are you and how did you get into my office?!” Detective Inspector Greg Lestrade just so refrains from reaching up to his hammering heart.

“How indeed,” says the man in the designer suit, who is leaning against Greg's desk with casual elegance. His hair is jet black, his eyes are pale blue; he has an aristocratic nose and nicely shaped lips and he oozes an aura of importance and power. He is very handsome in a unique way but damn – he is scary… And Greg is not scared so easily…

“What do you want?” Greg's voice sounds a bit shrill to his own ears.

“What is your connection to Sherlock Holmes?” the man asks, his icy gaze boring into Greg's eyes.

“What, Sherlock? He… Who the hell _are_ you?!” Greg yells all at once.

“Mycroft Holmes, at your service,” the man responds without even flinching, examining his perfectly manicured fingernails.

“Oh. So… You are his…”

“…brother, yes. So?”

Greg shakes his head. “Why don't you ask _him_?”

The dangerous eyes are being narrowed, well, dangerously. “Are you not able to answer a simple question? It's almost as if you had to hide something…” His deep, appealing voice has a furtive undertone.

“Oh for God's sake I'm _working_ with him! On cases! He stumbled onto one of my crime scenes, high as a kite, and could still tell me at once where I had to look for the murderer! And he was right! He's very smart, your little brother.” Because this man is clearly quite a few years older than Sherlock.

“And this is all?” Mycroft inquires.

Greg sighs. “I'm not… _taking advantage_ of him if you are implying that! As if I could – he's young but he's very self-confident just in case you've missed that.”

“So you _would_ get to know him better if he let you!” Mycroft thunders.

“No! I'm straight! I'm married with kids!”

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“Well it surely does mean something to me!” Greg shoots back and the man visibly relaxes. He has obviously said exactly what he has wanted to hear. Greg wonders though why the hell Sherlock's brother bothers so much about that his brother's potential love life. But then – Sherlock has a drug problem and he certainly has it for a reason. Bad experiences probably… And this man clearly wants to protect him, even if it's in a rather obnoxious way…

“Good. Go on then. Use my brother to solve your cases.”

How _that_ sounded now… “I _am_ capable of solving my cases!” Greg insists.

“If you say so…” smirks the other man with an infuriatingly insulting undertone and grabs the large umbrella that has been leaning against the visitor's chair.

“Who carries an umbrella on a sunny summer day?” Greg can't help but insulting back.

“ _I_ do,” the man answers with complete nonchalance. “You never know when you need it…”

And somehow Greg is sure he is not talking about rain… “What do _you_ do for a living?” he asks the back of the man who has almost reached his office door.

“This and that,” is the answer.

“Now I'm in the know.”

Mycroft Holmes turns around and stares at him with eyes so cold they make Greg shudder. “You know everything you have to know, Mr Lestrade. Good morning.”

And gone he is and Greg feels as if he's just passed a very weird exam, assuming that if he'd failed it, he wouldn’t have been facing a very happy future…

°°°        °°°        °°°

“That was awesome, as usual.”

“No problem, Lestrade. It's a win-win-situation…”

“Good, that's good. Listen, Sherlock, um… I had a visitor yesterday.”

“Well, I suppose that does happen from time to time.”

Greg sighs. “No, I mean… It was your brother, and I still have no idea how he got into my office unseen…”

“Oh, he does that. He's rather sneaky…”

“He surely is…”

“So he came to make sure you're no bad influence on me?”

“Kind of, yes… He didn’t tell you?”

“We don't talk to each other if we can avoid it, Lestrade.”

“Oh, I see. Well, he certainly worries about you…”

“He does. Constantly… Plus he's the biggest control freak in history…”

And Greg thinks that this is as nice as it is sad… Not talking to each other? And then the older one sneaked his way into New Scotland Yard to make sure his brother was safe there and not messed around with? That was indeed somehow cute and sad. And a little weird…

He shakes his head over himself. Weird? Anything about Sherlock was _weird_? _Everything_ was, actually! “Well then, until next time.”

“Yes, Lestrade. Just call me when you're out of your depth again.” But Sherlock winks when he says it, and Greg smiles at him. He likes this complicated, snarky, troubled, helpful lad, he really does. And it is good to know that there is someone else watching over him…

°°°        °°°        °°°

_“Let that be!”_

“And a good evening to you, too, Sherlock.” He sounds a bit drunk, his little brother, doesn’t he? Not high but tipsy. He has learned to distinguish between his states of mind long ago.

_“Stop putting people through an inquisition just because I talk to them! It makes me look like an idiot!”_

Mycroft takes a sip of his brandy. “Have you called Mummy recently? You know how much she craves for that.”

_“Just stop it, Mycroft! I'm not a child anymore!”_

“No. You are most certainly not.” _God, no…_

_“Then stop controlling me!”_

The wrath in his brother's voice is like a blow to the gut but of course Mycroft doesn’t let it show. He never does. “Would you like to come over and play chess? Or 'Operation'? Or we could have dinner together tomorrow.”

Sherlock just snorts and ends the connection, and Mycroft lets the hand with the phone drop onto his thigh. Why has he even tried to reach out to Sherlock? He knows it's not welcome. He closes his eyes and decides to go to bed instead of working on this report. Somehow he knows he won't be able to concentrate on it anymore tonight…

And he also knows he will never stop reaching out to his brother.

Never.

### Molly Hooper – St. Bart's Hospital, Morgue

“Aieeee!” Molly drops the scalpel and moves backwards with wide open eyes.

“It's all right! I'm not a ghost!” The man in the grey suit raises his hands in a placating gesture.

Molly puts a hand onto her heart which is beating way too fast to be healthy. “My God! You almost killed me! Who are you? And how did you get in here?!”

“My name is Mycroft Holmes, Miss Hooper.”

Actually it is _'Doctor'_ Hooper but she doesn’t correct him. Instead she eyes him curiously after her heartrate has almost returned to normal. He doesn’t have much resemblance to Sherlock except for the black hair and the blue eyes and the pale complexion. He is taller than Sherlock and his face is rounder and he has a dimple in his chin. Molly has always liked that… “So you are related to him?” Sherlock has never mentioned any close relatives, of course not, they are not talking about this or about _anything_ really, but if she had to guess…

“I'm his older brother,” he confirms her suspicion.

“Is something wrong with him?” The thought has hit her without warning.

He narrows his eyes just a bit. “You seem to care about him a lot, Miss Hooper. He comes here if he needs body parts for his experiments and if he has to examine a body for the police as far as I know. Do you meet him outside of these halls?” He sounds casual but she can sense his tension.

“No,” she mumbles. “But I… like him.” What else should she say but the truth?

He clearly doesn’t like this answer. “So he's nice and kind to you?” He sounds disbelieving.

Molly looks down on her feet. “No, not exactly…” Sherlock is just nice to her if he wants something. She's not an idiot - she does realise that. And it's hard to miss because as soon as Sherlock has got what he wanted, he hurries away, eager to put the eyes she gave him in a microwave or whatever he did with these things that used to belong to human beings before. He never seems to even think about that, for him they are just means to an end. And of course he never thinks about her as soon as he turns his back on her. Because she also is just a means to an end…

“Is he gay?” she asks the man who looks as if he was about half a dozen years older than Sherlock. He's attractive in his own way but he oozes something that's both cold and a bit… _obsessed_ with his brother? Why is he even here? What does he think she could be doing to harm Sherlock? Or has he rather dropped by to make sure she really doesn’t do anything too nice for him…?

She has caught him off guard. “I believe so, yes,” he slowly says. “But he's not like other people. He doesn’t… _do_ anything with them.”

He sounds as if he indeed hopes Sherlock really doesn’t. And who is she to judge? She knows Sherlock will never want her; she even believes he is gay indeed and still she knows she's fallen for him and will never like anyone else nearly as much as she likes him… So if his own brother is leering for him too, well, she does understand it… Clearly Sherlock will never want him either… But actually his chances are better than hers, brother or not, because at least he's a _man_ … And a good-looking one, too…

He looks as if he regrets having said too much and really – if Sherlock is gay or not is none of her business. Or his, actually…

She shrugs. “Well, I help him out with space here, some equipment and fingers and stuff. Dead people's fingers!” she hurries to add. “That's it.” And that’s all it ever will be. She will grant Sherlock with any favour he might ever ask for but she will never win his heart. And somehow it's okay. Sometimes admiring someone so special from afar is enough… Especially with someone she doesn’t have anything in common with except for the fascination for death.

Mycroft Holmes nods. “Very well. I shall leave you to your duties now. Apologies for having startled you.”

“It's okay. It was nice to have some breathing company for a change.” And it has been nice to meet someone who has known Sherlock since he's been a cute, innocent child. If he's ever been… It's hard to imagine him like this actually…

Mycroft smiles and it looks genuine. “I'm glad you are so generous and helpful towards my brother. He needs some people he can trust.” There is a hint of sadness in his eyes when he says that but his tone doesn’t give anything away.

Molly nods. “He can. And don't worry – I'm not going to throw myself at him…”

To her surprise he blushes and then his jaw tightens and he gazes at her out of narrowed eyes. “Why would I worry about that?”

She tries hard not to show him what she thinks. Somehow she senses that this man, besides his obvious worry and care about Sherlock, is very dangerous. So she plays stupid and just shrugs. “Just saying. Don't tell him I want anything from him…”

He is visibly relieved. “Don't worry. I will not. And you don't have to let him know that I was here, all right? Have a good day.”

She watches him leaving and then returns to her autopsy. Who would have thought that there's not just one but two complicated Holmes man? And she wonders what Sherlock would say if he knew his brother was here to grill her about her 'relationship' with him… Well, she will certainly not tell him.

°°°        °°°        °°°

_“I've watched you coming out of St. Bart's!”_

Mycroft closes his eyes. “Perhaps I'm sick.” He waits for Sherlock to say something like _'now that would be good news!'_ or _'why didn’t you go see a vet then?'_

Instead he is silent for a moment before he asks, _“Are you?”_

Is he worried? No. That's just wishful thinking… “I'm not.” Why has he gone there anyway? He has tried not to, for a full month because that's as long as Sherlock is going to the young pathologist regularly. But today he just couldn’t help it any longer… And it was stupid and he should have known Sherlock would find out, if the pathologist told him or not…

Sherlock sighs. _“So it was just about controlling me, as usual! What were you thinking? That she gives me drugs? You think I'm taking formaldehyde these days to get high?”_

“What do you take then?” Mycroft shoots back before biting his lip, knowing that was the wrongest thing to answer.

And of course Sherlock explodes. _“Nothing! I don't need it anymore! I have my cases! And these people are helping me so just leave them alone!”_ With this the connection is dead.

Mycroft is close to banging his head on his desk. He just wants to make sure Sherlock is fine, is safe, and is as happy as a man as troubled as he is can be but it always seems to come across as intrusive and controlling and appalling.

 _And you want to make sure nobody steals his heart,_ an inner voice mercilessly accuses.

As disgusting as it is, the voice is right. What would he do if Sherlock fell in love with someone? Got together with someone?

 _You should be happy for him,_ the nasty voice whispers, and again Mycroft knows it's right.

But instead it would _kill_ him…

He tries to focus on his work again and then a thought pops up in his mind. Sherlock said _'just leave them alone'_. He did _not_ say _'leave_ me _alone'_.

 _You're starting to get crazy,_ the hateful voice says contemptuously. _Of course he meant that too. But then – you're crazy anyway for wanting your own little brother!_

Mycroft hurls his pen against the wall and in this moment the door is opened after a sharp knock and the Prime Minister stares at him with wide eyes. “Are you throwing things at me now, Mr Holmes?!”

Mycroft suppresses a groan. “Of course not, sir. What can I do for you?”

And as much as he loathes the man - he's grateful for the distraction.

### Mrs Hudson – Baker Street

Whistling, Martha Hudson walks upstairs to see what her new lodger has already brought into the flat. She is so happy to know Sherlock will move in! And with another young man after all! How lovely to have a happy gay couple in her house, too!

She does swallow when she takes in the sight. The smart boy has really brought a lot of strange stuff upstairs. Science books and weird-looking equipment for God knows what. But that's how he is, this special young man! Soon he will come by with the doctor he has chosen as his flatmate. She really can't wait!

She turns around to go back into her flat and almost runs into a man who is standing in the open door of the flat. “Who are you?!” she yells at him. But then she shakes her head. “Oh, sorry, you must be Doctor Watson. Is Sherlock there, too?” She peers around him but doesn’t see anyone.

The man clears his throat. “No, I'm not Doctor Watson, Mrs Hudson.”

“Then who are you and how did you get in here?” The front door is always closed!

The man, very tall and sour-looking, glances over her shoulder at the flat. “I'm Sherlock's brother, Mycroft Holmes.”

“Sherlock has a brother?!”

He smiles wryly. “He doesn’t exactly peddle it around. But I can assure you I am.”

She eyes him curiously. He is a good-looking man, albeit not in the rather alien way Sherlock is. He will soon start to lose his hair and his nose is spectacularly long and oddly shaped but not unattractive. His eyes have nothing of Sherlock's mysterious green-blue ones; they are of a rather common light-blue. But nothing about this man is common otherwise. Mrs Hudson knows people. One doesn’t get so old and survives a marriage with a drug lord and not gets to know people. This man is important in his profession; no doubt about it. And he is worried. About Sherlock.

Mrs Hudson does know a thing or two about the detective. She knows he has struggled with addiction but he has promised her these times are over! “This is not a drug den, Mr Holmes,” she says. He can't know about her husband's past, can he? And it's not her fault!

“No, I can see it is not,” he answers calmly, and somehow she is sure he knows everything about her that is to know.

“And this mess…”

“…is already from Sherlock even though he hasn't even moved in yet, yes.”

So what does he want? He wants to make sure his brother is safe. He has to see with his own eyes where Sherlock is going to live. “Have you met his flatmate already?” she asks him, and for a second a shadow is falling over his face. Everybody else might have missed it but not Martha Hudson.

“No, I haven’t been so lucky yet.” He says is it in a flat tone but it's evident that he doesn’t find anything about this stranger's existence lucky.

“How did Sherlock meet him?”

He looks into her eyes and she can see that behind his cold masquerade there is a man with a good soul. A caring soul, at least when it comes to his brother. “As far as I know, he met him yesterday by accident. Someone they both know brought the doctor to St. Bart's Hospital where Sherlock was doing an experiment.”

“And Sherlock wants to share a flat with him already? It must have been love at first sight,” she mumbles, and to her surprise, he winces. It's over in a second but she hasn’t missed this either.

She doesn’t faint. She doesn’t gasp. She doesn’t even flinch. She is not like any other old woman. She has seen so much, done so much. Nothing can shock her anymore.

But she is certain of a few remarkable things now: Sherlock has no idea that his brother is here to check out his future living conditions. They are not close. In fact, they are estranged. But this man loves his little brother and he is tremendously jealous of the man who will live here with him. And his jealousy is not brotherly at all. He is in love with his baby brother. And Sherlock has no idea about this, either.

“Well, I guess he and the doctor will really just share the flat then,” she says. “Sherlock doesn’t seem like the type who falls for someone so easily. Sometimes we jump to strange conclusions, don't we?” She shakes her head over herself, and not just for him. So her flatmates will be no rivals for Mrs Turner's married ones. It's a shame but not nearly as much as this man's obviously broken heart. Because how can it be _not_ broken? He longs for a romantic relationship with a brother who is probably not even talking to him. The poor man!

He is standing with his hands in his pockets now, looking down, nodding at her remark. “Well, I do suppose… I shall leave now, Mrs Hudson. I'm sure my brother will feel very comfortable here. And here is my card,” he takes one out of his jacket pocket and hands it to her, “and if there's a problem with the payment of the rent or… with Sherlock, please let me know and I'll take care of it.”

She smiles at him and he eyes her with surprise before he slightly smiles back. “I will do that, Mr Holmes. And I will look after him.”

“Don't spoil him too much though. His mother has already done that and… And please if you'd be so kind to not mention to him that I was here?”

She smiles and nods and promises nothing. “I won't be his mother, or his housekeeper. But he can always come to me if he has a problem.”

He swallows. “He has plenty of people like this now. Friends. That's very… good. Thank you. And goodbye for now.”

“Goodbye, Mr Holmes.” She watches him leaving and sighs. How boring are the married ones of Mrs Turner all at once. This is real drama. A handsome, powerful man in love with his beautiful little brother.

She is not feeling put off by it. She has never thought about incest and despite being a very tolerant lady, she would have probably found it yucky was it concerning someone else, especially a man and a woman. But these two young men – they wouldn’t harm anyone. Because she knows people and she knows that the man she has just spoken to would rather cut off his right arm than harming Sherlock and it would be nobody else's business if they were happy together.

But of course – Sherlock isn’t aware of his feelings she's sure. Or does he know it and that's why they are estranged? She doesn’t know Sherlock well enough to say that.

But she will find out.

And no matter how badly her marriage has failed – she has always been a romantic at heart. If she can help two hearts finding together, she will be the first to do it. It would just be shame that she could never tell Mrs Turner or anyone else about it. But a forbidden love between two brothers that would always have to be a secret – she can't think of anything more romantic.


	2. To Be A Light, To Be Your Guide

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post "A Study in Pink". Sherlock has survived the game with the pill thanks to John. And now let's see what happens afterwards :)

### Anthea And Mycroft

“It's all done,” Anthea informs Mycroft Holmes when they have almost reached her house where the car will stop before the driver will bring her boss home as well, and she stores her phone.

“Hm?”

“The surveillance for your brother and Doctor Watson, sir.”

“Oh. Fine. Thank you.” He nods and then leans his head back against the backrest of the seat again.

She has never seen her boss so defeated before. He has been all kinds of things because of Sherlock – infuriated because of his petulance and his stubbornness. Worried to bits about his drug consumption. Sad about his phone calls being ignored. Angry because Sherlock has upset their mother.

But now he looks completely beaten.

And she does know why. It's Doctor Watson, this annoying little man. He thinks John is Sherlock's boyfriend or is about to become it.

How can a man be so silly? A smart man like Mycroft Holmes above all?

Yes, she has seen Sherlock and John Watson smile at each other when they were walking away from the crime scene. Yes, they live together now. Yes, John has obviously killed the cabbie to save Sherlock and he has only known him for a day.

But before all this John has tried to come on to her. Hell, he has actually just tried again right next to her boss! But Mycroft hasn’t noticed obviously, too busy with his pain about Sherlock's brattish behaviour. She could have shaken Sherlock and shouted at this silly young man! Does he really not see how much his brother loves him? Doesn’t he realise the hurt he's inflicting on him whenever they meet? Like right now when he was his snarky and unbearable best towards him…

Many times in the past years she has been tempted to go to him and tell him. But there's no way she could do that. Mycroft would strangle her and Sherlock wouldn’t listen. Or worse – he would figure out the nature of Mycroft's feelings. And he doesn’t return them in the least. Or does he? There have been times when she hasn't been so sure about it…

But she simply can't risk it. There is too much on the line and her job is the least important thing of them. If it went wrong, it would destroy Mycroft, and she likes and respects him way too much to risk it.

She still has hope that something will happen. That the camera feeds will show that Sherlock is not interested in John Watson in the way Mycroft believes. That something will occur that will make the brothers become closer. As close as possible… She wishes they had been there sooner. That it could have been Mycroft to save Sherlock. Perhaps then… But these thoughts are futile now.

They have arrived in front of her house. “Goodnight, sir,” she softly says.

“Goodnight. What is left of it.”

Which isn't much indeed… And not much has been good about it, apart from the obvious… “I'm glad your brother wasn't harmed tonight.”

He looks at her, his eyes unreadable. “So am I. Thank you for coming with me.”

“Always, sir. Bye.”

She watches the car drive off and her heart is heavy. It's hard to not be able to help someone one likes that much.

Finally she sighs and enters her house, welcomed by a furious cat that wants its cuddles, and wants it right now.

### Mycroft

He barely notices when the car arrives in front of his house and has to be politely reminded of it. He bids the driver goodnight in a toneless voice and stumbles towards the door. The umbrella drops to the floor when he misses the stand but he doesn’t bother picking it up. He doesn’t make light but drags himself to his living room on heavy feet, and his shoulders feel as if he was carrying a dozen bricks.

He pours himself a drink and gulps it down at once, then gets a second one. The alcohol is burning in his throat. He doesn’t draw any comfort from it but at least it numbs the pain a tiny bit. The pain of a heart broken for the millionth time but worse than ever before.

Never in his life will he forget the look Sherlock and John have shared when they were walking away from him, with Sherlock not even saying 'goodnight'. Leaving into his future with the man who has proven his worth by shooting the man who has almost made his bright but addictive little brother kill himself – not with pointing a weapon at him or forcing him in any way physically but by using Sherlock's hatred for boredom against him. Mycroft knows this all as if he'd been there himself.

But he wasn't. He hasn’t saved Sherlock. John Watson has, and so he's the man at Sherlock's side now. They will live together and Sherlock will forget him, Mycroft, completely now. They will still meet at their parents' house for Christmas dinners perhaps but besides that, Mycroft could as well be dead for Sherlock.

The thought is making his heart clench and he hates himself for this weakness, like he has hated himself for loving Sherlock in a way a brother should never do for so long, or for being unable to set him free, having to control him again and again, even bothering his friends with his unwelcome 'interviews'.

From now on he is going to keep out of Sherlock's business. Just leave him be. Let him do his own thing without interfering. With all those people caring for him now he will certainly not fall back into old habits again. His almost-death tonight must have been enough to make him finally giving up playing deadly games with criminals and drugs.

But what if not…?

Mycroft buries his face in his hand. He might be dead or rather inexistent for Sherlock but if his little brother died, it would shatter him to pieces and there wouldn’t be enough hells to make him burn enough for letting him down.

### Sherlock And John

He is slowly coming down from his high. A high not caused by drugs but by surviving the game. Even though he hasn’t really – he will never know if he has chosen the right pill. John has broken off the game with a well-placed shot.

“These _dim sum_ are great,” John tells him with his mouth full and Sherlock nods even though he has hardly eaten anything of them. “Still can't believe you let me go on thinking this man was your archenemy.” The doctor shakes his head.

“Sorry?”

“I mean, yeah, I and Harry don't get along that well but she's still my sister. And he's your brother.”

“He most certainly is,” Sherlock mumbles. He doesn’t want to talk about Mycroft. Or think about him.

“And he cares a lot about you,” John states, completely missing his feelings. “Has me kidnapped and brought to that creepy warehouse… It's crazy! I really thought he…” He grins and shakes his head.

“What, wants to kill you? Or me?” Sherlock asks, picking at his supper.

“Nah. I thought he was jealous of me.”

“Jealous?” The fork seems to have become heavy in his hand all at once.

“And when I think about it – that's exactly how he seemed at the college. He doesn’t like me being with you. Not in the least…”

“He's not jealous! He's just afraid he's going to lose the rest of his control over me now that you are in my life,” Sherlock protests but something seemed to have started crawling around in his stomach, and it was not the Chinese food.

John shrugs. “If you say so. You know him way better than I do after all.”

No, Sherlock really doesn’t. He has, a long time ago, when he was little. But now Mycroft has long become a complete stranger to him. Which is for the better. Mycroft may never know… Because of course he will never feel the same for him. “Let's go,” he says, standing up abruptly. “It's late.”

John tilts his head but then he nods. “Yes, sure. Time to go to bed.”

Indeed. Go to bed, alone like always. Alone and thinking of the man he can never have, and he doesn’t want to see him, not ever, because it breaks his heart that he can't reach out and touch him every single time.

### Mycroft And Angelo

“Hello! Come in, my friend!”

Mycroft is taken aback. This man is not his friend. In fact he has never seen him before. Only his picture on his police file… But he nods and brings a smile to his face even though he knows he should just turn and leave the restaurant again. What on earth is he doing here at all? He has not wanted to do this ever again! He's not a bloody stalker after all!

“Is that table fine for you?” Angelo asks him with a wide smile.

“Oh yes. It's fine.”

“Just give me your coat, please. Oh, and you have an umbrella. Is it supposed to rain?”

Mycroft grimaces. “No. I always carry it with me. It's… a habit.” He sits down at the table at the window, facing the room.

“Oh, I see!” Angelo beams at him. “That's cute! You eccentric British people!”

He has actually been born in England and he has a British accent but Mycroft knows what he means. In his heart he is still a fiery Italian.

Mycroft takes the menu from his chubby fingers and chooses _pasta_ _funghi_. He isn’t hungry but since he's here… here in the restaurant where Sherlock and John have spent their first evening together, having a romantic dinner…

“Will you be eating on your own or are you expecting anyone?” Angelo asks him when he brings the wine.

“Nobody will come,” Mycroft says darkly and he hates the self-pity in his voice. What he wouldn’t give to spend just one nice evening with Sherlock, eating together, talking, just as brothers. He doesn’t even dare imagine they could do it as lovers…

“Oh, such a handsome man like you!” Angelo doesn’t seem to realise how intrusive he is.

“Do you know Sherlock Holmes?” Mycroft asks through gritted teeth without any finesse, just to change the subject, and that's why he has come here after all. To find out more about Sherlock's new life in Baker Street. He knows Sherlock has eaten here with John again yesterday, lunch this time.

“Yeah, sure! Sherlock! He's great! I owe my life to him!”

Mycroft nods. He knows the story. “We don't have the death penalty,” he mumbles to himself but Angelo hears it.

He grins and sits down opposite of Mycroft. Then he seems to see someone he knows outside and waves enthusiastically before he focuses on Mycroft again. “So Sherlock told you? He's an angel! Do you know him well?”

“I'm his brother.” Why does he even tell this man? He will only tell Sherlock about his visit and Mycroft will have to deal with furious baby brother again…

“Oh! Sure! I should have seen that!”

“We don't look alike at all.”

“But you do! The same pretty eyes and this strange combination of pale skin and black hair!”

Mycroft blushes a little. He is not pretty at all. Sherlock is, oh yes.

“You must be so proud of him!” Angelo says and pats his arm.

Mycroft hates to be touched. “I am,” he agrees though. And he is. Sherlock has come such a long way from the drug-troubled boy to the man who solves cases for the Met. He's so smart and wonderful and… “They come here often, he and Doctor Watson?”

“Just two times. Lit some candles for them.”

Mycroft bites his bottom lip. “I'm sure they appreciated that.” In fact he has not seen anything fishy about Sherlock and the doctor. When they are at a crime scene or just walk around and get caught by the cameras, they never touch. They don't kiss in public. But probably they are just not showing their affection so openly and leave it to the privacy of their flat. Mycroft could have placed cameras in 221B Baker Street. But he knows he couldn’t bear this kind of film…

“Not really,” Angelo says. “Seems I was wrong. They are not…” He makes a rather vulgar gesture with his hand.

Mycroft is relieved but he wonders why. Sherlock and the doctor know each other for only four days now. Perhaps Sherlock wants to take his time. He has never done anything with anyone after all, at least as far as Mycroft knows.

“And the doctor's not gay. I saw him with a woman yesterday.”

“You did?” Mycroft tries to not sound hopeful.

“Yes. Stuck his tongue into her throat.”

As he has told Greg Lestrade already – that doesn’t mean anything. John can change his mind anytime and decide the next person he wants to stick his tongue into is Sherlock… The thought almost makes him throw up…

Angelo stands up. “I should better look after your pasta, Mr Holmes. You're too thin, you need some tasty calories.”

Mycroft thinks he rather needs a shot to the head and he's far from being hungry but he will eat. He has heard what he has come for and actually it has been rather good news so he will now just try to relax and have dinner by himself, as he always does.

### Sherlock And Mrs Hudson

She has watched them together for three days now and she's sure – Sherlock and his doctor are just friends, nothing less, nothing more. Sherlock is not interested in him in any romantic way and John has gone out to meet a girl tonight and Sherlock is alone, and he hasn’t shown a hint of jealousy about John's date.

And Mrs Hudson has just come home from buying a present for her good friend Maude, and she has passed by Angelo's restaurant and has seen the owner with a man she even recognised from behind after meeting him just once before. Perhaps she has even looked out for him? In any way Mycroft Holmes has come to eat in Sherlock's preferred restaurant and isn’t it so cute?

And apart from being cute it's a sign. A sign to finally test the waters now that the move has been completed and Sherlock has settled in his new flat. She stores the present and gets busy in the kitchen for a moment before going upstairs.

“Uh-uh! Does anyone want tea and ginger nuts?” she shouts when she enters the flat through the invitingly open door.

Sherlock is sitting in his armchair and his face brightens up. “Oh, me! Well, it's only me here.”

“Oh, yes, John has a date, doesn't he?”

Sherlock grimaces and she holds her breath. “Yeah, this boring, kleptomaniac nurse… I bet she's going to steal his money…” And then he grins at her and she giggles.

“Is that true?”

“Of course it's true.” Sherlock grabs a ginger nut and puts it into his mouth. “Didn’t tell him,” he brings out around it.

“Oh, Sherlock. So I was wrong about you and John,” she says, deciding to get straight, well, _almost_ straight, to the point.

“Hm?”

“About you and John being a couple?”

Sherlock swallows and snorts. “Please. He's straight and not my type.”

Interesting. He has not said _he_ wasn't interested in men or in romantic relationships in general.

“So who is?” she asks, knowing she's nosy and intrusive but she only means well.

His face darkens for a moment. “Nobody. So – did you get the present you were looking for?”

 _Changing the subject? Not so easy, my friend…_ “Oh yes. And on my way back, I saw your brother.”

“My what?!” Sherlock's eyes are wide.

She has not mentioned Mycroft's visit. But how else to get there? “Your brother, dear. He is eating at Angelo's.”

“And spying on me!” Sherlock explodes and gets up. “I'll go there and tell him that…”

“You love him.”

“What?!” Now his eyes seem to be close to wobbling out of their sockets.

She doesn’t have any doubt though. She has seen the pain in his eyes when she mentioned his brother. “You love him, not John. It's he who's your type.”

Sherlock slowly sinks back onto his chair, a kaleidoscope of feelings showing on his face. He has been about to deny it, to maybe shout at her, but in the end his expression turns into one of deep sadness. “Yes,” he whispers. “Always has been. Only he.”

“And you've never told him?”

“Told him? Are you mad? He would be so appalled! He would probably send me to a lunatic asylum instead of rehab then…” Sherlock's tone is bitter and hopeless.

“Oh, my dear boy. He loves you, too!”

“No! How would you know?”

“He was here.”

“Well, I've figured out that much… But certainly he didn’t tell you he's in love with me,” Sherlock spits out.

“No, of course not. But I could see it.”

He gives her a wild look of hope and denial and desperation. “He can't!”

“He's been hiding it from you like you've been hiding it from him.” She can only imagine the hurt that these unwelcome, forbidden feelings have caused both men over probably years and years. Mycroft has to feel guilty about wanting his younger brother and he has certainly kept his feelings from him by being arrogant and cold, just like he probably is to everybody else. And Sherlock, the much more emotional boy, has probably been nasty to him, insulting and taking every opportunity to hurt him to hide how much he craves for him. The poor, silly boys!

Sherlock shakes his head. “It can't be. I wouldn't have missed that.” But he sounds as if he wants to believe her, and she knows he can.

“Go over to Angelo's, Sherlock. Just pretend you had no idea he's there for a start. Be nice to him. And then see what happens.”

Sherlock looks scared to the bone all at once. “I can't…”

“Oh yes, you can, and you will. You're the clever detective who doesn’t fear anything. You can face your big brother.”

Sherlock closes his eyes and then he gets up. “All right. I'm sure it will end horribly but all right.”

“It won't, Sherlock. Believe an old woman.”

And in his eyes she can see that he desperately wants to believe her.

### Sherlock And Mycroft – Angelo’s Restaurant

Sherlock takes the deepest breath of his life before he steels himself and enters the restaurant. His brother is sitting with his back to the window and there are just a couple of guests deeper inside the room.

He hangs up his coat and then he turns left. Mycroft hasn't looked up and is busy glancing at his phone. His plate is empty and he has a half-full glass of wine standing next to it. His face looks sad and exhausted. And hopeless?

Sherlock's heart is racing but he desperately tries to calm down to not give anything away.

This is madness! Why has he come here? What if Mycroft deduces his feelings now that Sherlock is in such a particularly vulnerable state? He has been able to deceive his brother for more than ten years and now he's willing to be deduced to shreds just because Mrs Hudson, who has probably just talked to his brother for a few minutes, is sure he loves him back?

And then Mycroft finally gets that he is being watched. He raises his head and sees him and his cheeks flush just a bit. His eyes widen with an expression of surprise, guilt, joy and fear. He clears his throat. “Sherlock. Hello. I… Someone told me this restaurant is good and… it is.” His voice trails off and he looks as if he's close to getting up and fleeing.

And just so, Sherlock realises that Mrs Hudson was right. It scares him to death but it also makes his heart clench with joy. He nods. “It's very good. Angelo is an old friend of mine.”

“Sherlock!” the man in question thunders behind him now and they both wince. “Look, your brother's here! What about a fine lasagne?”

“Just a _cappuccino_ , please.” Sherlock looks at his brother. “May I?” He gestures at the table.

“Sure.”

Sherlock sits down opposite of him. And winces when a candle is put onto the table and gets lit.

“That's better, huh?” Angelo asks with pride and just a hint of a smirk in his voice.

Mycroft blushes even harder and Sherlock deduces that Angelo has told him that he has done the same for him and John – make the table look more romantic.

He looks up at the restaurant owner and Angelo is beaming down on him – and winks. Sherlock is shocked – Mycroft hasn't told him about… Nah. No way! So Angelo has deduced it as well? Or is he simply insane – thinking every man he shows up with here is his lover, even his own brother?

“Just a moment! Your _cappuccino_ is on the way!” Angelo promises and retreats – with a suggestive smile.

Sherlock has no idea how to respond to this and turns his attention at his brother – who is looking as if he wants to be anywhere but here.

Sherlock tries to compose himself. “You've come here to find out about me and John,” he calmly says.

Mycroft swallows. “Yes. I'm sorry – I know you said I should let it be. But… Sorry. I won't do it again.”

“Makes no sense anyway. John will never be anything else than my friend. In fact he is having a date with a woman right now.”

“That's…” Mycroft breaks off and nods. “It's good that you have those people now. People you like. Who like you.”

“It is.” How is he supposed to get there? What can he say? What if he's wrong?

And then the quiet instrumental music stops and a song starts playing. An old song that Sherlock vaguely remembers from his childhood, sung by a deep male voice. And he barely recognises when his cup is set onto the table in front of him, listening to words that seem to crawl right into his heart.

And his look meets his brother's, and the pale-blue eyes are full of confusion at first, then the expression turns to disbelief, hope, and then deep affection and Sherlock is going to eat his right sock if there isn't a tear shimmering in Mycroft's left eye while they are both listening to the beautiful, sappy, completely fitting song.

_I got your letter from the postman just the other day_

_And so I decided to write you this song_

_Just to let you know, exactly the way I feel_

_To let you know my love's so real_

_Because I love you, I'll do anything_

_I'll give you my heart, my everything_

_Because I love you, I'll be right by your side_

_To be a light, to be your guide_

 

 _If you should feel_ _that I don't really care_

_And that you're starting to lose ground_

_Let me reassure you that you can count on me_

_And that I'll always be around_

_Because I love you, my heart's an open door_

_So won't you please come on in_

_Because I love you, I'll be right by your side_

_To be a light, to be your guide._

 

And that's what Mycroft has always been for him, isn’t it? His guide, his light in dark days. Always around when he has needed him. Someone who loves him deeply, who watches over him, quite literally. And not to control him like he has thought but because Mycroft has never wanted anything but keeping him safe.

When the song is over, silence falls over their table. Angelo is nowhere to be seen and the other guests are far enough away to pretend they are not even there.

They are still staring at each other, layers of ice, resentment and protection crumbling before their eyes.

“I'm sorry,” Sherlock finally says. “Sorry for more than I could even say.”

“You don't have to, really. I'm sorry for being overprotective and…”

“You were not. Well, sometimes… You did stalk my friends.” But Sherlock smiles when he says it, and after wincing at the accurate accusation, Mycroft returns it.

“I admit it. I had to make sure… they're good enough for you.”

“But not _too_ good…”

Mycroft blushes heavily. “Well…”

He will not speak it out, Sherlock knows it. So he has to do it.

“Mrs Hudson sent me here.”

“She did?”

“Yes. She saw you when she came home. And she knows…”

Mycroft pales now. “Knows what?” His voice is trembling and he knows the answer very well already.

“That you love me. Not like a brother.”

Mycroft looks as if he's about to pass out. “Oh God… Will she…”

“She sent me here, Mycroft,” Sherlock repeats softly. “Because she saw that… I love you all the same.”

“This isn’t a joke, Sherlock? A game?” he asks even though he must have seen it already.

Sherlock can't exactly blame him for not being able to accept this truth so quickly.

There is so much to say, so much to explain, to ask, to assure, to be assured of, but Sherlock can't find those words in himself now. “Let's go,” he says instead, taking out his wallet and putting some money onto the table. Angelo doesn’t want it but Sherlock always pays, and it's enough for Mycroft's bill as well.

“Where are we going?”

“Baker Street, of course.”

°°°        °°°        °°°

Angelo watches them leaving with a huge smile on his face. He's not always right when he senses romance but he is absolutely sure he is now. These men belong together, brothers or not; even a complete fool could see that, and Angelo might be a thief but he's not a fool nor is he a square.

And he has always believed in the power of love songs.

Whistling, he returns to his duties and he thinks his dear Sherlock must be happier than ever now.

### Sherlock And Mycroft – Baker Street

Sherlock's landlady is nowhere to be seen when they arrive in Baker Street but Mycroft can sense her presence, sure she is standing behind the door of her flat, watching them through the peephole, and obviously she is happy about them coming here together, as hard to believe as this is. He owes this woman he hardly knows so much.

Mycroft's brain is spinning and numb at the same time after getting over the shock of this astonishing discovery. Of course he is stunned and beyond happy about it. But he also feels horrible. How could he have missed Sherlock's feelings for him? How could he have failed him so badly? All this time when Sherlock was taking drugs – without having to ask he knows that Sherlock's unhappy love for him has played a big part in this. He could have saved him from this had he just shown him that he was feeling the same… He could have kissed the unnecessary hurt away, could have loved the pointless pain out of him - if he had just paid more attention.

“Don't think, brother,” Sherlock rumbles when they climb the stairs. On their way they have not been touching, of course not, to everybody else they have to look like brothers or friends or colleagues – everything but the lovers they are about to become. But they have walked close enough to randomly make their coats collide and even this has seemed like a breathtaking intimacy. And now Sherlock reaches out to touch his arm when they enter his flat. “There's nothing we can do about this now. I should have seen it, too.”

But he hasn't, instead he has believed Mycroft was chiding him and lording over him to make him feel small, to show him his place as the younger brother, the unpredictable rebel with the drug problem. It kills Mycroft to think about this. He tries to push the guilt away. “Are you sure Doctor Watson won't come back so soon?”

Sherlock has closed the door behind them. “I am. He said things were getting interesting between him and this woman. Interesting for him, that is. And if he really does come back before you leave, I'm sure Mrs Hudson will keep him occupied…”

There is not much doubt about that. She has played Cupid already and she will for sure do her best to protect them from Doctor Watson finding out about them.

 _'…before you leave'_ , Sherlock has said. And of course Mycroft knows he can't stay for long. And he knows this all has just happened so quickly and unexpectedly but he also knows they can't wait now. Too long have they both been craving for it, hurting for it. He will never do anything Sherlock is not willing or able to respond to and he will be careful and tender, but he can see it in his eyes – Sherlock wants it every bit as much as he does. They will have to talk, and talk for a long time. But it's not the right time. Now it's the time for showing him that he's in fact doing what he has always told Sherlock was not an advantage…

*****

The first kiss is feeling like a feather brushing over Sherlock's lips. He knows his brother is cautious. He gives him and will always give him a way out. Little does he know how little Sherlock needs that. He needs _him_.

So he kisses him back and does so much firmer. He is unexperienced but he is glad to see how naturally this comes to him. There is no clacking of teeth against teeth and their tongues are neither too dry nor too wet. The kiss is just perfect.

For so many years he's been dreaming of tasting and feeling his brother like this, and his knees get weak at how wonderful it feels. But he won't stumble or tumble as Mycroft is holding him tight, securing him, guiding him to the couch backwards, keeping him as safe as he always has.

Sherlock could kick himself in the bum for being so oblivious and stupid, for having hurt his brother's feelings for as long as he can remember. No goldfish would have been so silly because they are not so complicated; they rely on their feelings and don't overestimate their brains. Not that they really could but Sherlock has not for the first time realised the hard way today that being very smart can lead to doing very stupid things… He feels tremendously guilty and sorry for having treated his brother so badly for so long. He should have told him how he was feeling and then he would have spent his early adult years on a cloud of love instead of the dirty floors of drug dens…

Mycroft pulls away and Sherlock makes a small noise of protest, but his brother just brushes some curls from his forehead and smiles at him. “Don't think, brother,” he repeats what Sherlock has just minutes ago said to him. “It was my fault, not yours.”

“It really wasn't.”

“Well, let's say we have both been a bit… blind. And complicated.”

“Understatement, and that from you? We were idiots!”

Mycroft chuckles and his beautiful eyes are sparkling in a way that makes Sherlock's heart do funny things. “Right. Idiots. Worse than any goldfish. But we'll do better now, won't we?”

“Much better. Come.” Sherlock wraps one arm around his waist and drags him towards his bedroom. “We should better be quiet. And quick.”

“What do you think – do you want to come over to my place tomorrow evening where we have to be neither of this?”

“Definitely! But I won't wait until tomorrow!” And he doesn’t want to go to Mycroft's place now either. This is where he's at home and he wants to make Mycroft his own right here and show him that he's his, wherever they are.

There is a rather adorable twinkle in Mycroft's eyes when he answers, “I'd never dare demand that from you.”

They have reached Sherlock's chamber and he locks the door behind them. If John really comes back, it won't make things much better if he finds them behind his locked bedroom door but it's still better than to catch them in the act… But Sherlock is sure John won't be home so soon anyway and if so, Mrs Hudson will distract him. Sherlock trusts John with his life but he wouldn’t want to let him know about this. It's a foretaste of what it is to come – a secret relationship full of lies and deceiving his friends, their parents and simply everybody but Mrs Hudson. And Sherlock is fine with that. It's all he's ever wanted and he will pay every price if that means they can be together, safe and unharmed.

So now he hurls himself onto his brother now, devoid of any finesse or shyness, for it is what they both need to assure each other that this is really happening.

*****

It's an explosion of lust, wild and clumsy and frantic, and the most exciting thing that has ever happened to Mycroft Holmes. Sherlock's hands and mouth and teeth are everywhere on him, his smooth, warm skin feeling like velvet under Mycroft's exploring lips and fingertips. Mycroft wants to be tender and caring to show him how much he values him but the overwhelming smell and taste of this pale, silky skin is shutting up all reason and caution and they kiss and touch and nibble away on a cloud of arousal and want.

Somehow Mycroft ends flat on the bed with Sherlock's groin over his face and it's the perfect position for giving and devouring and being thoroughly consumed at the same time. Sherlock's soft, wet mouth around his cock makes his eyes roll in pleasure, the random scratching of sharp teeth over his sensitive flesh only heightening his arousal.

And tasting Sherlock's cock – it's like a wonder in musk and naughtiness. Two brothers entangled in a way that should feel so wrong but just feels like having found paradise.

His hands are sliding over Sherlock's arse cheeks, his thumb teasing his brother's entrance just a bit, making Sherlock moan even louder around his prick. It's a promise for another time – it would be too early and neither of them is able to pull that off tonight anyway. His orgasm is building up quickly, and he can hear it in Sherlock's breath – his brother is close as well.

And as if to prove their sudden deep connection, they both come at the same time, flooding each other's mouths with their seed. They both gag a little, experiencing this kind of intimacy for the first time, but they both swallow the other man's essence as if to let the other become part of themselves in a rude, primal way.

Sherlock's eyes look dazed when he scrambles onto his hands and knees to turn around and join Mycroft, and he pulls him close at once, pressing the lithe body against his own.

He doesn’t have to ask if Sherlock is all right or if he regrets it because the way Sherlock's face is snuggling against his neck as if he wants to crawl under his skin says it all.

They will have to deal with lots of difficulties; Mycroft is well aware of this. Their complicated past, the necessity to hide this love, their jobs – it will not all be roses and rainbows and it will require hard work. And Mycroft has never shied away from this and he will work harder than ever before to make sure this will last.

“Won't let you get away anymore,” Sherlock mumbles, sensing his thoughts.

“I should hope so, little brother. But I guess I should better leave you alone now.” He really doesn’t want to face John Watson tonight. The man isn't an idiot – he would see it right away, no matter how meticulously he combes his hair and puts his clothes back on if they met on the stairs now.

Sherlock sighs. “S'sucks,” he mumbles and then he claims Mycroft's mouth in a deep kiss.

Mycroft tastes himself and it's not entirely pleasant but he is already addicted to kissing him. “A lot,” he agrees. “But we'll be strong, little brother, hm?”

“Sure. We're Holmeses!”

Mycroft smiles and gently disentangles from him to refresh himself and get dressed. “And we have a date tomorrow night, right?”

“Bet on it! Seven?”

“Sounds good. If it gets later, I'll text you.”

“Fine.”

“I love you, Sherlock.” He wonders how these words he has never spoken out before come over his lips so easily.

Sherlock swallows. “Love you, too, big brother.”

And that's all that counts, isn't it? No matter how difficult it may get, this will be the all-time motivation to carry on. He will make Sherlock happy or die trying, and he will keep him safe and watch over him like he's always done.

°°°        °°°        °°°

Mrs Hudson watches the tall politician leave from behind her door, slightly wobbly on his feet, and she smiles. Good boys!

°°°        °°°        °°°

When John comes home, Sherlock is just disappearing into his bedroom and waves him goodnight, and he can see something has happened. Something good. And he wonders if it might have anything to do with Mr _'Interested-Party'_ and he smirks. He's known Sherlock only for a couple of days but he is already convinced that if Sherlock ever fell for anyone, it could only be someone as smart and arrogant and special as himself, and really – there is only one candidate for the job. _'Go for it, boys'_ , he thinks and goes into the bathroom, humming after a lovely evening for obviously both male habitants of Baker Street.

°°°        °°°        °°°

When Sherlock comes to St. Bart's two days later, Molly Hooper closes her eyes for a moment after taking in his sight and the confused looks he is getting from DI Greg Lestrade. So it has happened – Sherlock has lost his heart to someone. His eyes are sparkling and his voice sounds different. He's in love, and madly so.

And she remembers that day when a certain tall man has visited her in the morgue, and she nods to herself. It has taken them long enough but they have finally got it. It makes her heart ache a bit but it also makes her happy. Loving someone means you want to see them happy and Sherlock definitely is. She straightens her back and proceeds to do her job.

°°°        °°°        °°°

And the man with the many faithful (and very discreet) friends walks out of the hospital half an hour later, a smile on his face and love in his heart. He is about to see his brother and he can't wait. He pulls out his phone to send him a text.

°°°        °°°        °°°

Anthea watches her boss typing on his phone. There's been a smile on his face for two days now, a smile that warms her heart and makes her incredibly happy. And she knows there is no reason to shake Sherlock anymore and tell him to be nicer to his brother. Obviously he has learned to be exceptionally nice to him.

°°°        °°°        °°°

_Thinking of you, brother mine. Can't wait to see you later. SH_

_Ditto, my dear, ditto. Be good until then. MH_

_I will. And if not, I know you'll come and save me. SH_

_Always, little brother. Always. MH_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title and song: Because I Love You (The Postman Song) from Stevie B.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Xc1uQI2XmZs
> 
> Songwriter: Jonas Von Der Burg / Anoo Finn Ananda Bhagavan / Niclas Von Der Burg  
> Songtext von Because I Love You (The Postman Song) © Universal Music Publishing Group
> 
> I kind of copied myself with the restaurant scene but I heard this song recently in, well, a restaurant and the text was so Holmescest I had to include it :)


End file.
